“Papa,” said Neddy to his father one day, “I should rather have gone to some other place than St. Petersburg, I feel such a dislike to the Russians.”
“Why should you dislike them,” said the captain.
“Oh! because they were our enemies so long, and killed so many of our fine fellows!”
“They were but obeying the orders of their czar—doing what they believed to be their duty.”
“But they were horribly cruel, papa.”
“It would both be ungenerous and unjust to charge upon a whole nation the crimes of a few individuals. It is singular that one of the most striking examples of mercy to a foe of which I have ever heard, was shown by a Russian. The story is given as a fact, and I have pleasure in relating it, not only from its own touching interest, but from the hope that it may teach my son what our conduct should be towards those who, though our foes, are our fellow-creatures still.
“In the time of the first Napoleon, the French invaded Russia, from whence they were obliged to retreat, suffering the most fearful hardships, not only from the usual privations of war, but those caused by famine and the fearful cold of that northern clime. Thousands and thousands of brave troops perished in this fatal retreat. The splendid army which had marched into Russia so numerous and strong, melted away like a snow-ball! The fierce Cossacks hovered around the lessening bands, cutting off the weary stragglers who, unable to keep up with the rest, sank down upon the snow to die!
“At this fearful time two poor French officers, separated from their comrades, helpless and exhausted, sought refuge at the house of a lady, beseeching her to preserve them from the terrible death with which they were threatened, either from cold and hunger, or the swords of their enemies. The lady was a Russian,—the officers were her foes,—she had probably suffered from the devastating march of the French army,—but she had the heart of a woman. She dared not conceal the officers in her own house for fear of her servants and the rage of her countrymen, who would probably have not only slain the fugitives, but have wreaked their vengeance also upon her for seeking to protect their enemies. The Russian lady hid them in a wood, at some little distance from her dwelling, and thither every night, braving both the danger of discovery and the peril of being attacked by wolves, did this noble-hearted woman go alone, to bear food and necessaries to the suffering Frenchmen.”
“Oh! papa, just fancy hurrying along the snow, with the sharp winter’s wind cutting like a knife,—and then perhaps to hear a distant howl, showing that a wolf was on one’s track! Oh! I should not have fancied those night expeditions!”
“It would have been noble,” resumed the captain, “to have ventured thus for a friend,—the Russian lady did so for her enemies.”